How amazing is the pleasure in watching
a bounding ball of fur scamper about in the backyard.
From the pilot seat of the exercise bike,
peering through the windowed French doors,
the energy of the scrounging squirrel translates
to the pumping pedals of the bike.
He darts up a tree, out on a branch, back again,
down to the ground, and off across the lawn
in search of whatever motivates the constant movements,
but not without an occasional pause, in motionless pose.
Then off again.